


Stranger on the shore

by Lachanophobic



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 3 year gap (but AU), Angst and Feels, Cultural Differences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, Sex, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-10-06 09:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic
Summary: The man fell silent. Those inquisitive and honest eyes wanted to read him, blue and deep, big and spirited. He turned his face away. Failing at life, that was enough a reason. "Why would you care?"She shook her head slowly, "I don't care… I wouldn't care if you were just another passerby, but I'm involved now. So I've got the right to ask... as you've got the right not to tell me." She gently removed the last remnants of snow from the lapels of his torn black coat, fixing the collar around his neck. "I'm Bulma, anyway" she said, puffing out condensed breath.





	1. Prologue

> _Here I stand, watching the tide go out_
> 
> _ So all alone and blue _
> 
> _ Just dreaming dreams of you _
> 
> _ I watched your ship as it sailed out to sea _
> 
> _ Taking all my dreams _
> 
> _ And taking all of me _

_ _ **Acker Bilk**

[...]

"Enough, let him die."

The voice sounded muffled, and too distant to give a damn. In his place, nobody would. The lamppost overhead flickered shut, ringing down the curtain on the pitiful spectacle he had made of himself.

Somewhere nearby, someone strummed a jazz tune whose low basses seemed to resonate through his broken rib cage. A little farther on, an idiotic couple was making out. He could clearly hear their disgusting moans and drunken frivolities giggled in the wind. It must be past two in the morning, and West City was still swarmed with idiots.

It was snowing.

Snow soothed unwanted pain. Soon enough, his battered corpse would lie in a white grave streaked with blood. Nobody would notice. Cold seeped through his bones anesthetizing his senses. At last, sleep caught him unprepared. What a lousy end.

[...]

"... So I told him to fuck off and he left me stranded in a damn back alley! Can you believe it? Oh, but after this I'm not budging. I know he'll come crawling back crying crocodile tears at my damn doorstep and- wait, hold this for me."

Among the floaters dotting his vision when he awoke, there was the image of a half empty beer planted in his right hand. His gaze moved south, slantways, where a dappled afro woman sticking out like a sore thumb sat on his ass. He’d always imagined the Grim Reaper clad in a dark, hooded robe holding a scythe; but, this one wore a miniskirt and was assembling a selfie stick.

She thrust the pole in the snow with swift hand movements and, after a moment, a flashlight blinded him.

"Here we go," she clapped her gloved hands together, apparently satisfied, "that lamppost there is creepy. Now, I was saying-" she never continued. "Y-you… you're bleeding!"

The new blinding light must have highlighted his monstrous condition.

"What… if I do?" he replied nonplussed, his gravelly voice a shaky hiss.

"You're going to die!" she continued. Hurrying up by his side she fell on her knees, skidding awkwardly on the snow.

"What... are you… doing?"

"Shut up! Don't talk! I'm digging you out."

"I don't need your… help."

At some point she wasn't listening anymore, just desperately scooping snow aside.

He watched. "You're pathetic," a whisper, "and drunk."

"You're pathetic too." She finally reached his cold body. Their gazes met. "And stupid. Why would you let yourself die?"

The man fell silent. Those inquisitive and honest eyes wanted to read him, blue and deep, big and spirited. He turned his face away. Failing at life, that was enough a reason. "Why would you care?"

She shook her head slowly, "I don't care… I _ wouldn't _ care if you were just another passerby, but I'm involved now. So I've got the right to ask as you've got the right not to tell me." She gently removed the last remnants of snow from the lapels of his torn black coat, fixing the collar around his neck. "I'm Bulma, anyway" she said puffing out condensed breath.

"Not my pleasure, that's for sure." He was shivering, hard, and trying to talk above the sound of his chattering teeth.

"Rude. You could _ at least _ tell me your name." Her slurring was fading away, she must be sobering up.

"You don't need my name, you want an alias to give to the press so that your little heartbreaking story will feel more real."

"Your lips are turning blue and yet you still manage to be a total dick, I'm amazed." She quirked a brow, all the while pushing a tiny button on the underside of what looked like a watch. A continued beep went off. "For your information, I just called a car. It will retrieve us and you're going to accept my help because I'm pretty and generous."

He didn't turn. "You should've called the cops, I could be a serial killer."

"If you were one, you wouldn't want me to call the cops."

"You're naive."

"And you're in trouble."

"You don't say."

"I mean… this…" she run her finger over his neck, mindful to just skim lightly on the deep purple gash peeking from under his clothes. "Looks old, but still fresh. Knife?"

He didn't reply.

"Worry not, _ Sulkyman. _Your secret hero's life it's safe with me." When no surly comebacks reached her in response, Bulma started to feel alarmed.

"Nononono! Don't you dare fall asleep on me, buddy. If you die now I'll never sleep again… do you know how many wrinkles will I get?" She shook him once, twice… but his eyes were closed and his face so pale that her heart skipped a bit. She felt his pulse, it was weak, but still there somehow.

She moved nearer and straddled him, unbuttoning her down jacket to wrap the stranger's body in it. Her cheek pressed on his chest. "Hey… Sulkyman," she whispered, "stay with me, okay?"


	2. Thorn in the Touch

"Hey, B."

Someone shook her gently, cutting in her dreams made up of bloody hands and sassy jerks. As she blinked an eye open, the first thing she noticed was her own reflection in the window; puffy and panda eyes stared back at her. Groggily, she peeled her cheek away from the fogged glass, the figure of Yamcha appeared beside her in the blurred panel.

"What are you doing here?" Bulma asked, staring outside at the cotton-like flakes dancing in the air. She felt cold inside, cold that had nothing to do with the temperature and prompted her to burrow in the fleece blanket draped around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said, so serious and sad that she almost believed him.

"_And you'll never do it again._ It was just a Freudian slip calling me Corna in the middle of _ us _ making out… probably a pornstar name you _ inadvertently _ Googled for an imaginary friend. Obviously, every man would get mad at his _ girlfriend _ for _ getting mad, _ leaving her stranded in a goddamn alley at three in the morning in the middle of December," she ventured coolly.

"See? That's your fucking problem. Getting all paranoid over stupid shit-"

"And _ that's _ your fucking problem! If after seven years you still don't understand I'm not a fool, then maybe we're just not good for each other." She regretted immediately blurting out that last sentence. Her heart raced in her chest, hurting.

Yamcha fell silent for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing his eyelids. "Please, don't say that." The man stepped near, wrapping his arms around her fleecy cocoon. "Don't say that. I couldn't go on without you." His voice was sweet and shaky against her ear, giving the impression he was about to cry.

Bulma lacked the strength to push him away, fully aware that allowing that embrace also meant feeding her heartache. All in all, Yamcha was a good man. They _ made a nice couple;_ everyone still said that. The truth was… they were just nice to look at together. She still held him deeply entrenched in her heart; sometimes, she was tricked into thinking that she _ loved _ him like the first time they met, stumbling casually into an old tea house just for laughs and spotting a oh-so-handsome waiter that was evidently too shy to look her in the eye. She pointed at random things on the menu and pretended not to speak his language just to make him stay there a minute more. She did the same thing over and over again, every day, until she ordered the specialty of the house which coincidentally was named after him. His lame, 'Oh, looks like you ordered a portion of me,' and her, ‘if so, I'm taking two of them. Can you wrap up the other?' followed by sheepish glances and meeting after school, rolling on the bed and kissing and pawing at each other.

Bulma closed her eyes, letting the clean smell of his aftershave envelope her together with his strong arms. Then, she recoiled, shying away. "It's barely eight in the morning," she said, standing up from the built-in window seat. "What are you doing here? I doubt you came all the way here just to apologise."

Yamcha stepped back and staring at his shoes, said, "Goku called me."

_ Now it all adds up, _Bulma thought. She crossed her arms tight against her chest, stiffening. "And told you what?" Reining in the anger that was rapidly building up in her chest proved to be as hard as not slapping him.

"Nothing much, just that I'd better check on you because you spent fifteen minutes trying to drunk talk his voicemail into kicking my sorry ass...until you apparently found a better ass to sit upon," he emphasized the last sentence when his deep chocolate eyes returned to her. "I wonder if it was just a figure of speech." 

"Oh! I see. Now it’s clear to me why you're here." She dramatically threw her arms in the air. "Unbelievable. You thought I cheated on _ you_!"

"I never said that."

"Oh but you suspected it. Don't try to hide it, Yamcha. It's written all over your damn face!"

"Well, fuck! What do you expect me to do? Sitting around with my thumb up my ass when my best friend-"

"_My _best friend."

"When _ Goku _ tells me that line?"

"Have you- ugh! Honestly! I don't know what's holding me back to not kick you in the balls- have you wondered even for a second how I felt? What I was doing? If someone might have hurt me? Your first and foremost preoccupation was finding out if I cheated on you!"

"No! Of course not. Goku called me around five but I was asleep and drunk just as much as you were. When I checked my phone this morning, there were ten missed calls and I panicked. Of course I thought something could have happened to you!"

"You know what? Get out." Bulma raised both her hands, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Oh, come on Bulma."

"Did I stutter? _ Get out._ I'm not in the mood for a fight right now, so I'm giving you a way out before we jump at each other’s throats.”

“Fine.”

She saw it, the ‘things must always be on your terms’ written in his eyes. Of course, Yamcha would never say that aloud. Accepting passively whatever was thrown at him had been his way of coping with their relationship for years. He slammed the living room door behind him and she was alone again.

Bulma padded back to her now cold spot, leaning against the window, knee to chest. The fleece blanket on her shoulders slipped off, revealing last night’s getup still in place and bloodstained. Another reason she sent Yamcha away was because she felt guilty. Guilty for not telling him that the mysterious ‘better ass’ was currently recovering on a bed upstairs.

\---

"Knock knock," Panchy twitted as she strutted into the room, bringing with her fresh linens. She wasn't really fit to roleplay a maid. Her six inch heels tapped musically on the floor, accompanying her wiggling hips. The woman peered behind the big oriental screen hiding their guest from prying eyes. She smiled at the sleeping figure wrapped in tubes and bandages. "Poor baby," the blond sighed. "Last night you were bleeding so much. Let's replace those ugly, stained covers." She stepped nearer, starting to cautiously peel off the old sheets from the body of the man.

"Don't you dare go any further." From under the blanket, a strong hand gripped fiercely at her wrist. Panchy yelped, dropping the cotton fabric on the ground.

"Oh my!" She brought her now free hand to cover her mouth. "You're awake."

"Talk. Who are you and where is this?" The stranger's eyes were bloodshot and his breath quivered in short, pained gasps. He tried to get up from his lying position, but the sole strength of an arm didn't seem to be enough to support his body.

Panchy stepped forward, the initial shock in her gaze replaced by calm gentleness. "I'm your temporary mom and this is a safe place." She said in what she hoped was a reassuring voice.

"I asked a question," he insisted, his stance growing evidently uncomfortable by the second.

"And I gave you a response," she ignored the warning in his voice and delicately prodded away his hand, slipping from his grip. "Now behave and let me change those sheets."

"Forget the sheets. My clothes. Bring them here and I'll get out of your hair."

"Oh baby, your stuff is in the laundry waiting to be washed."

"You crazy bitch!" The man ripped the tubes strapped on him and jumped out of the bed… falling clumsily on his hands and knees. 

"Oh no!" Panchy knelt immediately on the floor to help him, but as soon as her finger skimmed his naked shoulder, the stranger slapped it away. The gaze she met was deep charcoal burning with shame and anger, the pupils so thin that he seemed crazy.

"My clothes. Bring them here _ this moment._"

"First let's get you back to the bed, okay? I'll definitely get them for you once-"

"You don't understand!" He struggled to stand up, wobbling and falling again.

"I'm gone for a few hours and Hell breaks loose." Two pairs of eyes framed Bulma standing near the screen, clad in an oversized sweater and black leggings. Azure curls spilled from a quick chignon on her head. "Worry not, _ Sulkyman._ I made sure to remove every frippery in your pockets before throwing that smelly heap of tatters in the washing machine. And believe me, when I say tatters, I mean just that. Mom stopped me from getting rid of them." She wrinkled her nose and stepped forward. "So you better be grateful to that woman. Now stop being a baby and let us help you back to your bed."

"You psychopathic kidnapper." The man ground his teeth. "I should've imagined this was your doing."

"Saviour. I'm your saviour, even if I'm starting to feel like I've truly abducted a child. Mom, take his right arm. I'm taking the left one."

"Don't you dare."

"Oh but I will, and you'll stay put. You know why?" While Panchy tried to tame the infuriated man, whispering niceties to him, Bulma lifted her sweater, pulling out a gun from the rim of her leggings.

"You're going to shoot me down?" He let out a mocking laugh.

"Yup," she replied, dead serious. "This baby here is a dart gun filled with propofol. So, either you cooperate or you'll be dragged to bed like a sleeping princess. Pick your poison."

The man shot her a vitriolic glare, but didn't protest any further.

Bulma smiled. "Now that's a good boy."

\--

The very definition of sulky was now gazing out of the window. He had blatantly ignored every other form of life in the room for the last five hours. He refused to eat and had even managed to remove the catheter. Unwilling to sleep anymore in an unknown environment, the man had also banned every form of painkiller or sedative.

Bulma still kept her gun within reach, even if the prospect of shooting an injured man with sleeping darts sounded cruel, even to her. She had resumed her daily work, going to and fro between labs, examining blueprints and assessing the production flow together with her father. Now, at lunch break, she had gone back to check up on her impromptu guest. She was sitting next to him, nestled in a fauteuil with her legs swinging on its arm. She hummed in delight while her incisors sank into the homemade pan au chocolat her mother had baked just for the inflexible Sulkyman. "Oh God, this is seventh heaven," she moaned, sending a quick, mischievous glance in his direction.

"Haven't you got anything better to do than annoy the fuck out of people?" His voice sounded biting and gravelly and had finally lost the struggling signs of hard breathing.

"No, if it means getting you out of your silence strike," Bulma snickered.

"I don't have anything to say to the likes of you."

"Oh really? Maybe you don't mind listening to me while I pour my heart out to you, then. I love chatting my issues away with complete strangers. It makes you feel less judged."

"Spare me the details of your pathetic soap opera life, I've already heard enough."

"Are you always this nice?"

"Just when my ribs are broken."

At least the man had some sense of humor. Dark, but still there.

They fell silent again. Bulma finished her pastry, whilst the man simply went on with his marble still life, finding the window more interesting than her.

At some point her cell phone rang. On the display the name of Yamcha reminded her of their unresolved fight. She let the ringtone play until the end.

"Just pick up and get out of here!" He finally turned towards her. She'd peeked at him before, but now, light cut just at the right angle on his fully exposed torso, where hidden beneath bandages and electrodes were well refined muscles that seemed sculpted in the flesh. He was ripped like a bodybuilder, details that made his lean frame all the more prominent in the north area of his body. Scars and welts littered his ashen skin, some old, others, like the big one she'd noticed the night before, were still recovering. It was grotesque, she thought. Cuts and bruises were also all over his face; the right lid was swelling bad and so was his corresponding cheek.

"What happened to you?" She couldn't help but ask, and at her question he turned sharply away.

"None of your business."

"You won't believe this but l figured that would be your answer," she said sarcastically, leaning back in the armchair and crossing her arms behind her head. "Will you finally tell me your name or do I stick to ‘Sulkyman’?"

"Stick to whatever the fuck you want and just leave me alone."

"Damn, you're so stubborn! Ok, I'm leaving." She hopped on her feet and walked toward the door.

He sighed.

"Last question," she stopped midwalk, her plump lips quirking upwards. "Why Vegeta of all names? It sounds so funny."

"Says the one named after underwe-" the stranger froze in place, he wasn't facing her but his muscles tensed up instantly.

What did she just say?

"You! How do you know-" when he finally faced her way again, the irritating afro woman was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the skilled and beautiful [rockykelboa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa/pseuds/rockykelboa%22) and the amazing [WhatTheHanz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheHanz/pseuds/WhatTheHanz) for helping me!  
And a big hug to the Vegebul community for being so supportive, love y'all!


	3. Quantum Seduction

“Good morning, class!” Bulma was a volcano this morning, she swanked in the large white room wearing a lab coat, underneath it, a sinful red dress showcased her body in all the right places. Truth be told, she hated abusing haute couture during demonstrations. She was more of a be-casual-at-work-and-kill-them-outside woman, but today she felt particularly blue inside and there was nothing better than showing off to cheer herself up. Flashing a charming smile at the audience, she walked onstage, a little venue built purposely for presenting her new project. A group of young physicists applauded her entrance, la crème de la crème of West University. Amongst posh scions and starry-eyed nerds she spotted the signature hairstyle of someone that had nothing to do with the ambience, his easy smile was a tiny oasis of normalcy in that overblown charade. Goku didn’t wave at her, he just nodded and grinned as she hid her laughter. Without anyone knowing, their little play began. 

“As you all already know, today’s topic will focus on our brand new '_ human collider' _, so whoever came just for the fritters may follow that beautiful blonde woman there to the adjoining room,” she waved at her mother who was already flirting shamelessly with some young men in the farthest corner of the room. Panchy looked up and blew a kiss in her direction. Moderate laughter filled the air, and like that, her lecture started.

After fifteen minutes of intense cross-talk with the audience, someone raised his hand amid the crowd. Bulma pointed at him, trying to sound as serious as possible, “Oh, looks like Dr. Son has a question for me, please go ahead.”

“Yup, thanks." Every eye turned in his direction, staring at the tall man whose ridiculously muscular body seemed struggling to escape the confines of his lab coat. He cleared his throat and sheepishly began with, "You said that you can turn whatsoever into a momentary atom smasher, does this mean that even food could shoot at me from now on?”

“Basically, yes. On the off chance that someone tries to turn it into a weapon.”

“Wow! Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Pretty much. For that reason, we developed a special stabilizer that works just under determinate conditions and solely if exposed to a predetermined gene pool. Why don’t you join me up here so we can whip up a proof of concept?”

Goku made a beeline for the stage, ending up apologizing multiple times for elbowing or pushing people on the way. The future physicians whispered curiously among themselves until he reached Bulma and stood by her side.

"Welcome." She said, feigning politeness. "Now, if you would be so kind as to stand here while I fetch the machine."

"Bulma, I don't remember my lines." Goku whispered once the woman was near enough to hear him.

She winked at him, "You're doing great. Just improvise." She made sure her shoulder brushed against his and disappeared behind a tent.

Bulma came back immediately after, pushing a metal cart upon which sat a tubular machine. It resembled one of those death rays one would see in sci-fi movies, just resized to fit a hand.

"Now you're going to get struck by a friendly proton beam and work as a sort of human cathode-ray tube. Be not afraid, my guests," she walked toward the spectators like a magician during a show, "this won't harm him in any way." There were still some sceptic eyes following her from beneath the stage. She smirked, activating the machine with just a gentle push of the finger.

Goku didn't move while a violaceous, almost invisible ray hit him. Everything lasted a couple of seconds.

When nothing happened to Goku, everyone in the room started to murmur with animosity.

"Oh-hoh, looks like the party started without me." The quiet but audible voice of a mustached short man silenced the buzzing crowd. 'It's Dr. Briefs Senior!' one said. 'It truly is him in flesh and blood.' He smiled at the youngsters who recognized him and placidly climbed the stairs to reach his daughter and her friend.

"Too bad, I missed the demonstration." He said, looking expectantly at Goku.

"You made it in time for the big finale." Bulma let her father approach her, moving next to Goku. "Dr. Goku, would you mind opening your hand and aiming at that target?" She indicated a black cardboard figure. "Focus on the center and imagine you're to convey all of your energy there."

"Uhm, okay." He did as told, stretching out his arm and pointing the flat of his hand forward. A ticklish feeling started to encompass him as Goku squinted his eyes in concentration. Soon enough, his palm started to glow.

The crowd watched with bated breath the luminescent, perfect circle leaving Goku's hand. It wavered between his fingers and then left his hand at light speed, burning a hole in the cardboard figure's head.

Nobody said a word for a long time, staring thunderstruck and rapt at the tendrils of smoke slithering ceilingward. Until one man started to clap his hands, followed immediately by a round of enthusiastic applause.

Bulma patted Goku on the shoulder and he beamed at her. It had been a huge success.

\---

"I wash sho nervoush," the fake doctor said, stuffing his mouth with a handful of pan-fried dumplings. He was sitting on a high stool in the kitchens of Capsule Corporation. Bulma watched him, propped on her elbows on the breakfast table, "Oh, I can absolutely see that," she stated, grinning from ear to ear.

Panchy brought two more trays overflowing with delicacies and put them under Goku's nose. He moaned in appreciation, grabbing more food. "You're the joy of this kitchen, dear Goku," Panchy tittered, "Bulma and Honey eat like little birds. Look at how cute those stuffed cheeks of yours are." She pinched one and Goku laughed like an overgrown kid.

Bulma smiled at them. Goku had been her best friend since their childhood, the one that always got her out of trouble and never asked for a reason afterwards. Much like her parents, open-minded and a bit flighty.

"I want to have you in my lab later, you gotta run some routine tests to check how your body is coping with the proton wave exposure."

Goku almost choked on his gyoza. "You're not going to stab me with needles, right?"

"I'm not going to do a thing," she inclined her head, "Chichi will." She waggled her brows.

"I—uh…" He seemed torn between fleeing and staying and she knew exactly why. "I don't like needles," he ended up saying, his voice a low whisper.

"I know." She replied, matter-of-factly. "As I know that _ you know _ you won't feel a thing if _ she's _ the one taking care of you. But you can always withdraw…" Bulma stood up, feigning total disinterest. "You know there's nothing that ties you to this project, and that's totally your choice. I'll ask someone else, and Chichi will—"

"No!" He jumped out of his seat, probably unaware that he'd raised his voice too much. "I volunteered!" He said determinedly, then he looked down sheepishly and, once again, his high-pitched timbre shrieked to a low gravelly murmur, "And Chichi always brings me delicious treats… I love her food."

_ Nearly as much as you love her. _Bulma thought, smiling fondly. "Okay. I'll meet you later, enjoy your breakfast," was her only comment, before leaving the kitchen.

\---

She would've asked about Yamcha, but something within told her to drop the subject even before mentioning it. They were fighting and their cold wars usually lasted weeks without either of them showing up or calling each other.

Bulma missed him, though. She loathed that weak side of her.

Back in her room, she shrugged out of her dress, letting it pool at her feet. The woman in the mirror staring back at her clad in nothing but lace underwear was everything a man could ask for. Or so Yamcha used to say. She could spot signs of time on her, though. Beneath round curves and silky skin hid stretch marks and little holes, precursors of cellulite. Bulma frowned, jotting down a mental memo to remove sugar from her diet.

She was still a sexy bomb, though, even if she was in her late twenties. She winked and struck a sensual pose, carding her fingers in her fluffy perm.

Yamcha whispering the name of another woman echoed in the back of her mind. "Why would he need to watch another damn bitch when he can have all of this?!" She asked, but obviously no reply hit her back. Paranoid? He said she was paranoid? Of course she was paranoid!

She needed to know. She needed to know if the problem lied with her or with that stupid brainfucked jerk! Without thinking twice, she stomped out of the room down the hallway.

\---

When the door slammed open, he didn't even look up from his ministrations. His right arm flexed, pumping his biceps with the aid of ridiculously light weights. It had been a week since he'd been _ kidnapped _ and forced to dwell in a total stranger's home filled with afroed lunatics and doctors entering and leaving _ his _room as they pleased. He was getting used to the racket and he profoundly disliked it.

"What do you want?" His annoyed query wasn't meant to sound like one.

"I want you to look at me and tell me what you see." She replied, sounding irked for some unknown reason he didn't give a damn about.

Vegeta just barely spared her a glance, framing her in the corner of his black eyes for a second, before returning to the weight. "I see a fanatical half-naked woman."

"You must be blind."

"You must be desperate."

The woman didn't retort. Her sudden silence prompted the man to sneak a peek in her direction. She looked down in the dumps, her eyes stared fiercely at the floor as if trying to kill it… or holding back tears. Unconsciously, his gaze followed the curve of her neck, downward, slipping on the jutting bones of her collar and on her firm breasts… where he stopped, briskly turning away.

"Why did you fucking barge in here in that ridiculous getup anyway?!" He couldn't help but raise his voice several decibels above his normal pitch.

"I wanted an opinion." She said just that, the metaphorical shrug palpable in her reply.

He had no clue if she was just oblivious or outright shameless, in either case, that didn't change his opinion of her. "You got it, now leave me alone."

"You're such a sociopath."

"I'm hardly one with all of you coming back and forth in here as if this room were a damn supermarket!" He snapped and their eyes finally met. She chuckled and stared at him for a couple of seconds.

"You look better." She stated, the sweet hint of concern in her voice made him shift awkwardly on the bed.

"How do you know my name?"

"Every time you ask the same question and I give you the same reply: won't tell, unless you get nicer to me."

Vegeta scoffed an "insufferable bitch" under his breath.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Do I look good or nah?"

She was persistent. In the previous days he'd learned that ignoring her was the best weapon to rid himself of her antics. Otherwise she'd come to him at every hour, asking stupid questions or chatting him into drowsiness. He simply didn't understand why she kept nagging him, if she was using him as a sort of time-killer due to his current infirmity or was simply a natural pain in the ass.

"You look normal. If you aren't satisfied with my response, just throw a poll on the internet and let me be."

"Mhh," she walked over to the bed and sat on the usual armchair by his side. After what looked like a thoughtful self-reflection, she said, "normal as in '_I'd tap on that' _ or '_passable, but not pretty enough for my golden dick?'" _

Vegeta was flabbergasted. She was bold. Bold in a way that he'd never seen or heard of before. Women, where he came from, where subdued creatures. Submissive by the sheer force of decades of a male-dominated regime. He'd met other women outside that realm before but never someone seemingly possessing a total lack of decency or privacy.

"This conversation is over," he hissed.

"What a boring man you are." She pouted, crossing her nude legs on the burgundy velvet of the armchair. She yawned and was about to stretch her arms overhead when the soft wintry lights coming from outside outlined a particular patch of skin on the nape of Vegeta's neck. Compared to his sickly complexion, it was scarlet red, as if ablaze.

"Oh no." She got on her feet as fast as a dart, suddenly overconscious of her lack of clothes. "Nononono."

Vegeta cocked a brow.

"You just thought I was flirting with you, didn't you?!" She sputtered, covering her breasts.

Now Vegeta's face was legit on fire, but despite embarrassment and shame, squaring his shoulders, he countered angrily, "As if! You're the one who came here in your underwear asking me if you are fucking material!"

"It was for reference!"

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Ugh! Ok, maybe it was my fault… I mean it was a totally spur of the moment thing, okay? Oh my God I feel so dirty!"

"Take a shower."

"Fuck you!"

"Uh—er… Hello?" Goku had just stepped out from behind the screen dividing the door from the bed, he scratched his head, laughing nervously.

"Fantastic." Vegeta had had enough. He just threw the weight on the floor and rolled on his hip, mindful not to move too brusquely. "Call me when this circus is over. Never mind, don't bother." He snorted a chain of unintelligible profanities and shut them out of his world.

Bulma, on the other hand, paled like a used rag. "Goku-"

"I… heard your voice and wanted to ask where the elevator is 'cause I'm lost—I didn't mean to intrude—"

"You didn't!" She babbled, running towards him with the clear intention to push him outside.

"He did." Vegeta grumbled in the background, "Both of you, actually."

"Oh God! Can you _ not _ make this worse?!" 

"Define '_this.'_"

Goku just followed their exchange as if it was a ping-pong match.

"Bulma," he pointed at her, "you're missing clothes."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, I know! Why don't we get out of this awkward situation like… now and I explain to you in detail in front of a tray of shortcakes?" She tried to push Goku away, but it felt like trying to move concrete.

"Uhm, okay. But who's that?"

"A nightmare." Vegeta interjected.

"Right, a fucking nightmare and we're going to wake up!" Without glancing back Bulma managed to remove her friend from his spot, dragging him away from the room.

That was Hell, Vegeta thought, and the devil wore black… lace underwear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the sweet and talented [MahoganyDoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles) for beta-ing this chapter. ❤


	4. Cause without duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the delay. I planned to upload the new chapter faster but life got in the way (as usual.) Thank you for your continued support. Also, if you'd like, feel free to leave your impression in the comments. It'd make me immensely happy. ❤

Curls of steam wafted from the mug Bulma kept tight between her hands, she took a sip of Royal Milk Tea and eyed Goku, that was wolfing down the remaining shortcakes on his plate on the other side of the kitchen table. They were fifteen minutes into a ghost conversation neither of them had started. The man in front of her was the master of serendipity, always able to sneak into awkward situations, the vast majority of whom she was the main protagonist. Like that one time he walked in on Yamcha and her, while they were getting it on in a bouncy house, at Krillin's daughter's birthday party. She was too busted to remember how they got there but recalled it was after hours and how Goku just popped in with two party cups filled to the brim with beer and just stood there, politely waiting for them to finish their business in order to offer them the beverages.

Bulma sighed, trying to shake off the embarrassment still lingering in her memories. Her eyes fluttered half-mast. "About before..." she started, trying not to sound excessively worried, "I'd like you to not imagine weird stuff, even if I know you probably wouldn't."

Goku observed her for a handful of seconds, confusion floating in his black irises. "What do you mean?"

"You saw me in my underwear in front of a man that wasn't Yamcha, normally a sight like that would rouse suspicious thoughts."

"Oh. Mhhh," he seemed to be trying to fish for words, "I really don't know what you mean but... I've seen you more than once like that, also Krillin did-"

"Okay, okay. Enough." She put down the mug, pinching the bridge of her nose. It totally sounded like he was unconsciously calling her a slut, but being Goku... Goku, she knew with mathematical certainty that he just meant that she wasn't particularly mindful of her own decency. Something that, on the contrary, Vegeta had remarked without beating around the bush.

"This is different. I don't want Yamcha to know. We..." she inhaled sharply, "we've got a lot going lately."

"I know." He said, suckling away what remained of the frosting from his fingers. "I mean... he told me this morning that you two had a fight."

"A fight? More like he dumped my sorry ass in the snow and never came back," hadn't Yamcha added fuel to the whole ordeal, they wouldn't be where they are now. "Which lead to the real fight. Fight is not even a proper way to put it, since I kicked him out before he could start one."

"But there's more?"

His sudden question distracted Bulma from glaring angrily at the cup of unfinished tea. "What do you mean?"

"You said that things aren't good lately, lately sounds a lot more than just yesterday."

"Right." She started to play with the hem of the robe she'd hastily fetched from her room before coming downstairs with Goku, her gaze fell on the table. "I'm just a bit confused, there's nothing more to it." Worrying a friend over her insecurities wasn't going to clear up her thoughts. She needed to talk this out more than anything, but currently Goku, wasn’t fit for the job.

Goku observed her in silence for a long time, giving her an intense stare that sent chills down Bulma's spine. She swallowed and was about to ask him what was wrong but at that exact same time, the man cut her off, clapping his hands in front of his face, once. "I lied!" The strength of his apology almost knocked the woman off of her seat. She brought a hand to her chest, where the rhythm of her heartbeat had escalated to a savage leaping.

"Y-you what?"

"Blood test. I didn't go. I chickened out right in front of the door and fled. But she got me."

Bulma blinked. "Who?"

"Chichi. I was running away from her, and that's why I jumped into the first room I found and ran into you."

Bulma facepalmed, "You didn't."

"She's mad at me."

"Bet your ass she is." Bulma crossed her legs but her shoulders relaxed in the chair, "You never listen to me, do you? The words 'you can withdraw' clearly left my lips this morning."

"But I don't want t-"

"This isn't a game." Her frosty, professional timbre froze Goku in place, she could tell from the sudden stiffness of his body. "This is a serious project and you know that. A dangerous gamble the three of us have agreed upon. It's risky for Chichi, who could lose her job. It's risky for me and you because you entrusted me with your life and the minimal error could make me a murderer and you a corpse. The silly show of this morning was made to allay the rising curiosity of the scientific community. To keep them at bay, you know what I mean and you know there's much, much more in game..." at some point the biting edge in her voice had turned into a soft and tender whispering, that made her sound more like a mother attempting, but failing to scold a child.

"I'm sorry." Goku looked downward, "You're right." His timbre was little and sincere, and just like a magician pulling a rabbit from thin air his voice gradually became determined as he said "I want to help you."

"Let's draw your blood then. This time I'm escorting you to make sure you find the right room."

As they got up and walked, they shared a knowing smile.

\---

He hated the incredible maze that was this house. More than anything, though, he loathed his current state. He was sweating and his head spinned, moving a step further without having the impression that his body was going to collapse was impossible. He'd made sure to refuse the administration of meds in the last couple of days, so that his body wouldn't grow accustomed to the numbness and the drug wouldn't lose its effectiveness. Finally, today he'd allowed those fools to inject the substance in his bloodstream so that it'd last longer, long enough to allow him to reclaim his belongings and disappear.

Pathetic. The sole action of dragging his feet on the floor like a feverish kid disgusted him, using the wall to support his shoulder, his bleary senses, the tremors, gasping for air... it was weak. So weak. So unforgivably weak that death would be preferable.

The corridor was empty. Which meant he had twenty minutes or so to find the laundry room before everyone returned from their lunch break.

His mind felt foggy, while dizziness and sleepiness dulled his already wobbly stride. The morphine was finally starting to kick in. And that meant the pain was bound to subside, but his alertness, on the contrary, would soon decline. He stopped just for a second, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his thoughts, piecing together all the scraps of information he'd managed to eavesdrop from the householders. On his first day of stay, the blue haired creep had mentioned something about having retrieved his stuff. She omitted where, the bitch. He was aware, though, that there was an elevator somewhere nearby. At least, according to that dumb scarecrow who'd barged in his room that morning.

His eyes snapped open, focusing on the hallway ahead.

\---

Chichi was standing in front of a monitor, checking something that beeped and bounced on it, when Goku showed up in the lab with Bulma in tow. Neither of them had time to say hello, when the nurse turned sharply over her shoulder. Black and straight locks bounced on her shoulders at the motion. "You have some guts to show up after avoiding me all morning!" she shouted. Her white lab coat swung dramatically behind her, making it look like the cape of some mad scientist. Goku shivered and moved behind Bulma, trying to use her as an impromptu shield to ward off the nuclear bomb that was Chichi.

"Some man you are," Bulma commented sourly, removing herself from the intended target. "Morning sunshine," she tweeted to Chichi and went straight to the monitor Chichi was surveilling moments ago. Chichi beamed at her for a fraction, before going immediately back to glaring at Goku.

Left alone like a soldier without a trench, he raised both his hands in a sign of defeat and attempted a crooked smile. "I can explain." Chichi must have perceived the little conviction in his voice, because she didn't budge, on the contrary her pace increased and the click-clack of her heels sounded even stronger on the floor.

She grabbed his ear and pulled Goku down to her height, to face him. "I've heard that same sentence too many times a week to believe it. Now, you must understand that running after you isn't a clause spelled out in my contract, nor is babysitting your bum. Since I don't get money for this, you're not getting off scot-free for wasting my time. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes sir?"

"My shift ends at 8 pm. I expect you at 9 pm sharp at my doorstep, with a fresh bouquet of flowers in one hand and the best wine you can afford in the other. You're also paying for the dinner. That's all, now roll-up your sleeve, sit on the chair and wait." Just then she let go of him and turned on her heels to retrieve the material she needed for the injection.

Goku and Bulma were befuddled.

"Wow!" Bulma turned toward Goku, who was still staring at the door, wherein Chichi had just disappeared into. "Dude, you just hit the jackpot."

"U-uhm?" He noticed her just when she finished speaking, "I hit what?"

"Oh my god! Oh my god! This is happening. I waited years but this is finally happening. My heart just skipped a beat, damn, I might have fallen for her a bit."

He didn't know how that was even possible, but Chichi had just asked him out for dinner. It was hard to discern what was happening, his stomach was somersaulting weirdly and his brain felt disconnected from reality. In fact, he totally ignored Bulma. When Chichi got back, professional scowl in place, she looked a thousand times cooler and prettier than five minutes ago.

"Hop to it, big man. I don't have all day." She said, tapping the syringe to remove eventual bubbles.

Goku simply followed her voice, sitting, rolling up his sleeve and placing the arm where indicated.

Bulma watched them with glee in her eyes. "That's an interesting approach, looks like you stunned him into obedience."

"Aw, don't say it like that!" Chichi giggled and her cheeks flushed a bit, however, she didn't lose her firm touch for a second. Her gloved fingers skimmed on Goku's arm, searching for the vein with unexpected tenderness.

Goosebumps filled his body, making his hair stand up... together with something else that wasn't supposed to react with such a joy in a moment like that.

He watched her, rapt and captive.

"Done," she said, pressing a gauze on his pricked skin.

All he managed to say was "so soon?"

Bulma pretended to roll her eyes. "Oh come on, now that's just super embarrassing. I'm leaving." Upon not hearing protests, she snickered and padded towards the door, and said "I'm coming back in ten, do whatever you have to do within that time frame," just to enjoy the yelps that came after that while she finished walking out the room.

\---

Her chest had twinged with a pang of jealousy and she felt bad about it. But Perhaps it wasn't jealousy, but rather... nostalgia. Bulma stepped near one of the wide window panels that framed the labs' hallway and leant against it, admiring the gardens of Capsule Corporation that were finely coated in a thick layer of shiny snow. She missed the feeling of being stupidly in love, and longed how her body used to produce abnormal levels of dopamine and oxytocin just for Yamcha. She was exactly like that a few years ago and wondered when it stopped. She hugged herself, as she felt the cold starting to seep into her bones again, like yesterday. She could try to logically explain the current reactions of her body to herself until her death; but still, she'd just remain a total ignorant in that field anyway.

The scientist couldn't explain why her affection was withering away, or why she felt so neglected, even when the man she loved showered her with attention. Was she being pretentious? Was she tired of their relationship or was Yamcha just faking interest in her? She felt ugly because she doubted him, and he made her feel uglier telling her she was paranoid.

Bulma often found herself wishing to invent a machine that could just wipe away all the bad memories and keep the good ones, so that she wouldn't end up grieving her love life like a teenager.

She sighed, "what a way to ruin the start of my day already."

"Warning! Help! Warning! Help!"

Bulma snapped from her reverie and looked up alarmed, she could recognize that robotic, super-cute voice anywhere. A tiny ball of violet fur was speeding up in her direction, floating and bouncing in the air while blaring like a siren.

"Puar!" That tiny robocat was something she created for Yamcha in the first years of their relationship, something she had come up as a gift for one of their anniversaries to overcome Yamcha desire to have a pet despite his allergies.

"Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!"

"Take me to him!" She said, resolutely. Her blood started to run wild in her veins, her heartbeat raced so fast she felt like she couldn't breathe and run at the same time. Something had happened to Yamcha. She would be the one to know, since she was the one that had set the bot to come to her if her man’s life was ever in immediate peril.

\---

When she arrived at her destination, her eyes widened with terror at the scene in front of her. Yamcha was standing in the middle of the room, in his shaking hands was her new invention. The same one she'd presented that morning. He turned slowly towards her, unable to form intelligible words. "I... I...didn't... I thought..."

On the floor lied Vegeta, apparently unconscious.

"Yamcha..." her voice trembled, the noise produced by Puar slowly faded in the background. "What have you done?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super big thanks to the wonderful **Ruthlesscupcake** for helping me with this chapter! Many thanks to you bby!


	5. Diamond in the rough

It was the second time in a week that she saw that man unconscious on the ground. She was supposed to _ be his savior, not his murderer. _

Floating between anger and fright, her body chose to let out the first emotion. "What the hell were you thinking?" Her shrill made Yamcha jump, letting the weapon in his hands fall to the ground. 

"I...I didn't have time to think!" He shouted back, trying to force his trembling limbs to still. "It was an accident. I was in the hallway and that… man was standing in front of the door to your invention, and it was unlocked! So I followed him inside and jumped on him, but he-"

"He is injured!" She had no time to deal with Yamcha now, panic was clouding her better judgment- the thought alone that Yamcha could have _ killed a man _ with _ her _invention currently mattered much more than the invention itself. She hurried next to the unconscious Vegeta, kneeling by his side and placed two fingers on the side of his neck, over his carotid. "There's a heartbeat," her lashes fluttered-trembled, as she breathed out a sigh of relief. But it didn't last long. "Quick! Go fetch Chichi and Son, they're in the infirmary." 

"I should just call a doc--"

"_Do as I fucking say, Yamcha_," she hissed, through her teeth, "fetch _Son_ _and Chichi._ Now!"

As the sudden squeak of rubber soles on the floor announced her boyfriend's departure, Bulma brought the hem of her shirt on Vegeta's forehead, carefully wiping off the traces of sweat trickling down. "Either you're the luckiest man in the world," she whispered, stretching her lips in a small smile, "or you're really, really special... Sulkyman."

\---

Son and Chichi had arrived in a heartbeat, and the latter had realized the situation instantaneously; just by exchanging a quick, cool gaze with her. She'd ordered Goku to move Vegeta to the infirmary; where the four of them were now locked shut. 

"Strap his arms and legs," Chichi had instructed, moving around the gurney where Vegeta was lying, intubated and sedated. "He's under a lot of morphine. Who was in charge of him, Bulma?"

"Me," she responded, without hesitation, while strapping his left leg. Her bottom lip curled inside her mouth, whitening under her teeth. 

"That, I know. I mean which doctor?" 

"Dr. Panpip, I believe. But he wasn't with Vegeta when this happened. Last notification I received said he was asleep and there were two nurses in the adjacent room and a security guard in the hallway. According to the doctor who rushed there, this man had knocked all of the surveillance unconscious." 

"Woah, he's strong," Goku interjected, gaining a sour look from Chichi. "S-sorry," he tittered nervously, returning to his task.

"No. You're right," Bulma commented, letting go of the strap to run her palm on the firm bicep of the dormant man. "That's why I called you guys."

"I figured as much." Chichi walked to a near monitor, and checking the patient's vitals, raised a hand under her chin. "No ordinary human being could take this much damage and live to tell." Once again, her black, deep eyes turned on Son; then moved to her again. Bulma nodded knowingly.

"You mean…" Son quirked a brow, probably unsure if his words were going to make any sense to his friends; "that he could be..." 

"He is. Most certainly." She cut him off. 

"I still have to run some tests on him to make sure of that…" Chichi started.

_ It must be it. _ Now her hand was gently squeezing Vegeta's shoulder, staring at the scarred map of gashes on his now unbandaged torso. _ This isn't the body of a common man. Nobody could have withstood this much without dying in the process. _Unconsciously, her fingers trailed at the height of his neck, tracing the deep cut she had noticed when she had found him in the snow.

She heard Chichi's voice in the background saying "I'm going to get new gauzes and tools. Goku, come with me," and merely nodded at the nurse, too concentrated on the skin under her touch to truly give her audience.

The door clicked shut behind the pair, leaving her alone with the beeping machines and Vegeta's slowly steadying breath. 

"I'm sorry." She admitted, now nervously carding her fingers in his jet-black mane. It was a strange sensation, there wasn't gel in it, it was surprisingly soft even if caked with blood and dirt. "I shouldn't have dragged you in this story." She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. "Is this why you wanted your belongings back so much? Oh, Vegeta… I wish you hadn't discovered the existence of the human collider." She stopped caressing his hair, slipping down the curve of his cheek, to cup it in her palm. "I can't let you go anymore now. Especially, because of who you are…"

Suddenly, the beeping of the machine behind them started to rise at a frightening frequency. Bulma stepped back, knocking over a few bottles from a tray. They crushed on the floor and Vegeta's chest began to rise and thrust, blood pumped in the veins on his pectorals, embossing them. His eyes popped open, and his pin-like irises rolled back in his skull.

"Oh fuck, no!" After an initial moment of shock, she flung herself on him, trapping his body under her weight. "Calm down. Calm down please!" She pushed down as much as he pushed up. Son was right: _ he was goddamn strong._ The bed rattled, as he fought against the restraints on his limbs. She could feel Vegeta's crazy heartbeat against her ear, and pain rattling in his throat in the form of grunts. 

"Chichi will be here immediately. Please, hang in there Vegeta." 

"What's happening?" Chichi barged into the room a few moments later, slamming the door open with a kick. "Oh God! Goku go help Bulma! Hold him down!" 

The man grabbed the patient's arms in a tight grip, forcing his weight back on the mattress with ease. 

Bulma panicked when Goku pushed her away to get in charge of the situation, she saw the horror on Vegeta's foaming mouth and her legs started to buckle. "I'm getting the gun!" She cried, running toward the door just to be stopped by Chichi. "Are you insane? We don't even know if the reverse process works! Do you want to fry his brain?" 

"We won't know until we try. Chichi let me go. He's dying!" 

Chichi slapped her, firmly, turning her head over. "Get a grip, Bulma! Can you trust me!?" The nurse growled, holding in her hand a syringe filled with a blue substance. 

Her breathing was shallow, but the sizzling pain in her right cheek woke her up. She returned to Chichi, letting big, fat drops of frustration roll freely on the bridge of her nose. "I do." She sniffled, "I trust you. I'm sorry." 

"You're too tired and emotionally wrecked to stay here right now. Get out and cool your head. You, better than everyone else in this room, know that you need to be in control to deal with this situation." 

"No." She wiped off tears and snot from her flushed face, drawing her eyebrows at the center of her forehead. "I'm the head of the project and **will** be fine. I'm going nowhere." 

Chichi nodded, smiling at her. "That's more like the woman I know. Now, let's get this man back on his feet. Shall we?" 

\---

Five long hours later, Vegeta had finally stopped trashing. Goku had fallen asleep right on top of him and was now snoring soundly, drooling in the crook of the patient's neck.

"Let's hope our man doesn't wake up while that mega child is using him as a makeshift bed, or else he'll truly have a seizure," Chichi commented, entering the room with a steamy mug of coffee in her hand, which she handed out to Bulma nonchalantly. 

Bulma took it, feeling her body slowly give out under the pressure and stress of the day. "Or he'll kill all of us," she inhaled the nutty aroma of the liquid and moaned softly. 

"That'd be the lesser evil," Chichi laughed, then paused. Bulma didn't turn to look at her but could feel the intensity of the other woman's curious gaze on her. "Do you like him?" She asked, abruptly.

Bulma sputtered her coffee, springing from her seat when the latter sloshed out of the cup and on her shirt. 

"I'll take that for a yes." The other shrugged, padding toward a cabinet to retrieve paper towels. 

"I don't… _ like _ him?! I'm...I was just jumpy...with the whole rollercoaster of shit that poured down on me in a week. Don't transform _ my _ stress into a fucked up sitcom," she bristled.

"Oh please, I had to leave you alone with the _ corpse _ earlier. You were pawing him all over. For a moment, I thought you had switched to forensics for how much you were focused on the _ anatomy_." Chichi wagged her eyebrows and Bulma felt her collar flare with unbridled embarrassment.

"Can you avoid using _ macabre rhetoric _ while talking about a living person? And… I wasn't looking at him _ that way. _I mean… did you see his body?" She glanced at Vegeta and the barest ghost of pain touched the crease between her brows.

"Yup. _ Smokin'," _she whistled, "but I get to see Goku's muscles every day, which is, not to boast, one of the perks in my job." 

"You sound like an old pervert. But that wasn't my point. I mean… he's got too many scars to have led a normal life." 

"And that's precisely one of the lamest tropes in romance. You find this mysterious bad boy magically fainted on a snowy night, use his ass as a chair and bring him home. And then, _ wham _! Will pop his kid in a few months and get married soon after." Chichi kneeled down, cleaning the stain of coffee from the floor.

"Hi, my name is Chichi, I'm definitely _ not _ the woman who has planned the next century of my life with a man who doesn't even have the courage to ask me out." She mocked, standing up and walking towards the door.

"Hey, we were going to do that _ tonight _but your mysterious future husband ruined the beginning of my century with Goku. You're the one to blame, and where are you sneaking off to?" 

"Fetching pillows and blankets for us. I figured you're not going to shut up about this until morning, so I might as well get fluffy weapons." She smirked, opening the door.

"Bring more coffee too," Chichi winked, "I've got the next three hours to describe my perfect wedding and I'm not going to skimp _ on details." _

Bulma sighed. "Super. Then, we'll need a _ whole barrel _ for that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ruthlesscupcake and Ni21 for helping with the beta process. Love you guys. ❤️


End file.
